Victorious in all Directions

[Alex]

The motorcade climbed through the Kangra Valley, six black vehicles threading their way up roads that had been quietly cleared hours earlier. Sebastian sat alone in the back of the third car, jacket off, tie still precise. He'd been reading briefing documents but had set them aside minutes ago. They didn't matter now.

Outside, the mountains pressed closer. Pine forests, rhododendrons, mist clinging to the higher slopes. Even through the sealed windows, he could feel the air thinning, growing cooler and fresher as they gained altitude the more they climbed the road.

He'd been thinking about the Dalai Lama since they left New Delhi. Not of the historical and intelligence information that filled the folder beside him, but he thought of the man himself. To have ruled since he was an infant, instilled within his mind that he was the reincarnation of a great religious leader. To have been forced out of his nation by communist swine, used by the American Central Intelligence Agency and abandoned after his purpose had been fulfilled… and now to deny sovereignty of his people while their culture was actively being massacred.

Sebastian found it difficult to have respect for such a man.

China wasn’t what it had been in the seventies, nor even what it had been at the turn of the millennium. The communist regime was gone, supplanted by a government with some hopes of establishing democratic institutions…

Democracy. What a joke.

When left unchecked, it was like a disease of society, naturally producing authoritarian figures. The consequences of which last for generations. The voter, obsessed with equality over all, accepts the falsehoods they find on headlines and spoken of on television without second guesses. They believe they are in control, but in reality, self-interest drives decisions.

Political rotation occurs, but the substance remains the same. Leaders are replaced by others who are equally unfit while the general population remains poor, uneducated, impulsives, and most of all: self-centered.

People needed a figure to look to, it’s how humanity worked. Democracy… was no more than another form of anarchy.

But now, over the Himalayas, something older, perhaps something harder, had torn down that government. An empire again, though a weak one. Imperialistic still.

It changed the equation. Sebastian was betting it changed enough.

The motorcade slowed as they entered McLeod Ganj.

Narrow streets, monks in maroon robes, tourists with cameras always being in the way, Tibetan refugees at market stalls. People stopped to watch the convoy pass, though with blackened windows, there was nothing to see.

They wound higher, past the main temple complex with its golden roof, prayer wheels turning in the wind. Sebastian could hear chanting through the armoured glass.

The Dalai Lama's residence appeared around a final curve. It was a simple complex behind a low wall, trees high on all sides. There were no guards visible, no ceremony. It was exactly as he had asked it to be.

The vehicles stopped.

Rajan, his head of security, got out first and checked the perimeter before opening Sebastian's door.

The mountain air was sharp, clean, and smelled of pine and woodsmoke.

"Wait here," Sebastian told his security detail.

A young monk appeared at the gate. "Your Excellency. His Holiness is expecting you."

Sebastian followed him through.

Jay